


Getup

by motorghost



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Sex, Body Image, Body Worship, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Humor, Light Angst, Lingerie, M/M, Masturbation, Mirror Sex, Mutual Masturbation, New Relationship, Rimming, Self-Doubt, Self-Love, Self-Worth Issues, Somewhat, Voyeurism, depictions of porn, jesse discovers nylon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:22:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25994401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/motorghost/pseuds/motorghost
Summary: Jesse wants to do something nice for Hanzo, but how 'nice' can someone like Jesse get?
Relationships: Jesse McCree/Hanzo Shimada
Comments: 78
Kudos: 276





	1. dress down

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first part of a Jesse-wears-lingerie fic for Magbob, who in addition to being a good good reader is an excellent Animal Crossing neighbor!!! This fic is one of the woefully overdue ones I started before the pandemic, but it's here now and I hope y'all like it.
> 
> oh and I'd like to thank the writers of the fellowship of the ring for their good good joke i... borrowed

Jesse's never hidden his dislike for wealth nor the terrible people it breeds, but Hanzo isn't that kind of rich kid. Not in the ways that matter, anyway. Trying to renew Overwatch is no pleasure cruise and Hanzo has adapted commendably; never shirking his duties (even the mundane or messy ones), never asking for more than his share (Jesse’s seen outhouses with more standing room than their dorms), and always volunteering to assist any team member he comes across. Of course, he’s got a compensatory ego a mile wide, and Jesse suspects he volunteers to help more often than not because he thinks he can do anything better than anyone, but Jesse scratched through that armor two weeks in.

“I’ve examined the facilities layout,” Hanzo said one morning, sending a holographic map of the Ecopoint from his tablet to Jesse’s with a sweep of his fingers, very much interrupting Jesse’s own work. “There are four possible blind spots. We should establish sentries on these corners and cameras for these towers. The most likely attack would come from the north, over the glaciar,” Hanzo leaned in to point at the map. “We must install sensors every twelve feet within that pass.”

Jesse scanned the hologram, then smiled up at Hanzo. “This is mighty good work, Shimada. You’re real good at this.”

Hanzo straightened his back, a sheet of smugness draped all the way over. “I have studied battle strategy across a multitude of environments for years. You will find me a valuable resource.”

Jesse kept smiling. “I do find you valuable.”

That smug sheet fell as Hanzo’s face went blank. He clearly hadn’t expected Jesse to agree, nor to do so with such bald-faced appreciation.

He quickly muttered something about needing to get back to work, and although Jesse couldn’t possibly imagine what he’d still have left to do, he let Hanzo go, smiling after him until he zipped around a corner.

Two months after that, they were in an underwater base off the coast of one of the islands of Cape Verde: Overwatch’s most hidden of Ecopoints. Mei’s research called her there with half the team directed to assist her work; weeks of dull monitoring in a sunless concrete bunker while the world flowed dangerously above.

Hanzo met the challenge in a way Jesse couldn't help but admire. Not only for his work, but for the way he softened around the team—more specifically, for the way he softened around Jesse. What started with regular debriefings turned into drinks shared in small rooms, which turned into secret make-out sessions in small corridors, which turned into sex in small bunks. They quickly became an officially-unofficial-thing, enough so that Genji let out an auto-tuned sigh every time Jesse brought Hanzo a coffee in the morning, as if he’d just smacked the older brother with a big sloppy kiss. Hanzo explained that it was because of the perpetual dopey look in Jesse’s eyes, but the cowboy couldn’t summon any shame; he’d thought he was long past having someone like Hanzo in his life. Tentative though it felt (and what, in his life, has ever not felt tentative?) he also felt he’d earned the right to swoon a little.

But Hanzo couldn’t do anything less than one hundred percent. The man sought work the way some take drugs: with nervous, almost superstitious fervor. They’d shared a room out of necessity, so Jesse had lots of opportunities to witness the myriad ways in which Hanzo loved to punish himself: intense workouts, hours of meditation, cleaning and analyzing and brooding from their alarm's first ring to whenever he finally let himself collapse into bed. It was enough to make Jesse’s freshly-blossomed heart ache.

The man accepted help the way most people accept a bullet to the brain, but Jesse so wanted to make him feel better. He brought him his coffee every morning, tried his best to keep their room neat like he knew Hanzo liked. He left romantic notes where Hanzo was likely to find them, gave him his space without needing to be asked. None of it felt like the grand gesture Jesse wanted, but there just weren’t a lot of options in a place where the only windows were portholes with ten inches of glass between them and the dark blue sea.

At least, with sex, Jesse found endless ways to surprise and delight his new lover.

One night, he came back into their room to grab some extra rounds and found Hanzo sitting up on their bed with his tablet's hologram option open and his hand over his boxer-briefs. He shut it all down so quickly that Jesse immediately knew what he'd been up to.

“Shimada Hanzo,” Jesse drawled, tapping the commands for the door close with his grinning eyes on Hanzo’s burning cheeks. “You watchin’ porn while I’m out trainin’ hard for the greater good?”

“I was—it was just—”

So rarely had Jesse managed to render Hanzo speechless that he couldn’t stand to tease him. He also hadn’t seen the man relax in any form or fashion for weeks; far be it from Jesse to discourage a recovering workaholic.

He chuckled warm and low while crawling onto the bed. “Go on then.”

“...What?”

“Wanna watch you jerk off.” Jesse was already palming himself through his sweats. “Wanna see what you do when you’re alone.”

Hanzo’s eyes blackened on Jesse’s, a line of heat opening up between them like a gunpowder trail; Jesse knew Hanzo wasn’t used to Jesse’s shamelessness yet, which made it even easier to surprise him. He got nice and comfortable while Hanzo slowly, intentionally re-opened the full-color hologram and pushed his hand back to the swell of his cock.

Jesse let out a half-surprised groan; it was a scene featuring three men making out on a big couch, one of them wearing delicate white-lace panties over his soaked groin. He and one other also wore cinched bustiers, making the broad sweep of their shoulders and the plush rise of their pectorals all the more pronounced. Their strong legs were covered in sheer nylons (was it nylon? Jesse wasn't sure what was called what,) which heightened Jesse's immediate desire to get his hands and mouth on each and every tantalizing part. Then the scene jumped ahead; the bearded man teased the man in white's cock through his lace while the third man pushed his cock in and out of a tear in the bearded man’s own panties, tugging him back and forth by the belt-strap-thing holding up his stockings.

Jesse, slack-jawed, looked at Hanzo, who was stroking himself like he was attached to a machine, staring with the kind of intensity Jesse'd only seen him display in the training bay. Hanzo's other hand twisted one nipple, bottom lip snagging under sharp canine teeth as his eyes flickered between Jesse and the hologram in a frenetic loop.

“Fuck,” Jesse growled, stroking himself to match Hanzo’s rhythm.

Hanzo kept up his fierce pace until his head shot back into the pillow and he slapped a hand over his mouth, erupting with uncontrollable groans as he came all over his own chest. Jesse’d never seen Hanzo come like that; it spurred him into his own completion faster than intended, and he was shaking even after he’d cleaned both of them up and found a cigar to light.

After a while, Jesse picked his head up from Hanzo’s chest to scan his face. “You…”

Hanzo looked down, waiting for Jesse to finish. Sleepy and beautiful.

Jesse found it hard to piece together the words. He tried it with a grin: “you were real into that lingerie, huh?”

Hanzo gave Jesse a slow smirk, looking him up and down for a moment, then leaned over to lick Jesse’s ear. “I like it on men with beautiful bodies.”

“Oh,” Jesse mutterd, a little flustered from the licking and from remembering the smooth, perfect body of the man in the white panties. “Yeah. For sure.”

Then Hanzo chuckled in Jesse’s ear, doused the cigar and kissed him until they were both dizzy.

~

It wasn’t long before Jesse decided that he should dress up for Hanzo, but it wasn’t long after that for him to realize that that might not pan out.

They re-enacted that first night a few more times; Hanzo choosing a video and getting his hand in his briefs whenever he thought Jesse was about to walk through the door. Always a video wherein the men were decked out in all manner of finery. Jesse eyed the actors carefully, then did a little digging; apparently, there are quite a few online stores dedicated to all kinds of erotic accoutrements for men: bustiers, panties, stockings, garters and garter belts, suspenders… he’s sworn out-loud while scrolling more times than he can count. And he thought tactical gear could get convoluted.

It doesn’t take a genius to notice that Jesse—big, hairy, not-in-rock-hard-shape Jesse—doesn’t resemble any of these promotional photos. There are a few otter-passing gentlemen modeling on just one of the sites, but they’re still goddamn models. Even the men in Hanzo’s video were typically gorgeous—all well-defined muscle and smooth, flawless skin.

Now, Jesse’s not out of shape by any means, but age and living _la dolce vita_ has bulked his middle more than he would like and swollen his already-muscular thighs to the point of chafing. There are scars, pock marks, freckles… A lifetime's worth of wear and tear.

He sits in the dark and tries to picture himself squeezing into some $100 lacy thing only for his big barrel chest to pop it straight through and he groans.

But he’s still _with_ Hanzo, and Hanzo seems to like him okay. When he looks at Jesse with desire, it’s enough to… well, Jesse’s still swooning three months later. It can’t be wrong to think that lingerie + Jesse = happy Hanzo.

It’s enough for him to start adding items into carts, anyway.

But two weeks pass and those carts stay full. Jesse goes through hundreds of items—lace, brocade, nylon, silk—but nothing really screams “Jesse McCree,” and he’s starting to believe that nothing ever will. But he also can’t get the image of Hanzo’s intense stare out of his head. Sometimes a kink hits so deep a nerve that it makes regular sex seem quaint by comparison, and the way Hanzo reacted to those videos told Jesse he’d be a fool not to do his damnedest to participate in that fantasy.

And, despite his open-mind and literal worldliness, it's a kink Jesse's never tried before. Probably knew somewhere deep down that it’d be too complicated to bother with. Or that no one who'd be interested in something so fine and elegant would also be interested in someone like him.

But that's fine. Hanzo likes nice things. Jesse can get into nice things, too.

“Genj,” Jesse sighs one morning, “Do you think I’m more of a winter or a summer?”

Genji gives him a flat look, chewing his breakfast granola in a way that reminds Jesse of grazing cows.

“Summer, right?” Jesse frowns back down at his phone. “It’s gotta be summer.”

“How would I know? _Why_ would I know?”

“You used to dress nice. Or, at the very least, you knew—”

“Yes, I dressed very nice,” Genji snorts, leaning back in his chair. “But I never thought about what season I was.”

“How’d you know what you’d look good in?”

“I looked good in everything?”

Jesse rolls his eyes and then, lifting his coffee mug, mutters, “You still look good in everything.”

Genji crosses his arms, preens in the classic Shimada way—as if it’s his right to frequent and unadulterated flattery. “That is true.”

“You gonna help me or not?”

“Hm. Well, you look good in your red serape. You look terrible with all that brown.”

“What’s wrong with brown?”

“You are already mostly brown. You can’t put brown on brown. Or you could do better, at least.”

“I like brown,” Jesse grumbles. “...What else?”

“Well, when you are tanned, you might look good in bright pastels. Mint, apricot. Even pink. But you are looking paler lately, so perhaps orange might warm you up. Not fireman orange—a warm, reddish orange.”

“Blood orange,” says Lucio from across the room.

“Yeah, blood orange! Or maybe a sunshine yellow, or marigold. You might like—”

“Slow up,” says Jesse, tapping at his phone. “Gotta write this down.”

Genji snickers. “What is this for, anyway?”

“Heh, well… you don’t wanna know.”

He doesn’t realize how obvious that statement was until three fat seconds have passed. Then Genji slowly links his fingers over the table and Jesse refuses to look up from his phone, typing random letters into the search engine.

“Jesse.”

Jesse keeps his eyes down, but his voice gets inexplicably louder. “Yeah?”

“Are you making me help you choose something lewd for my brother?”

Jesse lays out maybe three very good excuses before Genji abandons his granola and walks silently from the room to the sound of Lucio's barely-suppressed laughter.

~

Before Jesse can make any purchases (he tells himself that it’s not like he could’ve gotten a delivery out to Cape Verde anyway,) Winston sends a small team to Germany to look into what may be one of the world’s biggest dealers of fusion drivers, with customers that rival the likes of Talon. Reinhardt, Hanzo, Jesse, Angela and Brigitte all make it to Stuttgart and secure some rooms at the city’s edge without a hitch, but tensions are high; this is their first mission where their very presence may botch the whole thing, and they have almost no leads.

It’s a rough enough scenario that Jesse, after two glasses of rye and some hard thought, elects to take a long walk and then ring up an old acquaintance.

“Jesse,” says Sombra. As Jesse adjusts his signal capacity, she scoffs out a laugh. “Does your _papi_ know you’re out this late?”

Jesse tried to hide the fact that he was tucked away in some deserted corner of the city, but he also knows that Sombra could have his location within seconds if she wanted to. “Nevermind my _papi,_ ” he drawls. “Y’all ever do business with a guy named Fuhrmann?”

“Not that I know of. But I’m not privy to _everything_ Talon does.”

“What are the chances you’re tellin’ the truth?”

“Pretty high, considering—oh, this dealer?” Digital noises in her background tell Jesse she’s already looked up the man’s entire life. “Can’t say he’s popped up on our radar yet. But I’m sure it’s only a matter of time. Wow, he’s got some very nice things…”

Jesse sighs and starts pacing up and down the pavement. “Alright, well. ‘Spose that’s helpful.”

“Sure,” Sombra says, sounding far from her mic. Jesse imagines her adding her own items into her own digital cart. “Soooo, if that’s it, then—”

“Wait.” Jesse chews his tongue. “One other thing.”

“Yes?”

His pacing slows along with his good judgment. “Y’ever buy, uhh… fancy under-things?”

“What.”

“Um. Lingerie. You ever buy lingerie?”

“Okay, good night.”

“For me,” Jesse coughs, “I’m not bein’ weird. It’s for me.”

“No, not weird at all.”

“So you’ve never bought any?”

“Are you drunk?”

“No.” A pause, then, “Well, a little bit, but that’s not—could you just tell me a good brand to check out? For old times’ sake?”

Sombra makes a noise halfway between a chuckle and a quiet shriek of shock and/or dismay. It’s a moment before she’s able to respond. “Jesse. Even if I did know a good lingerie brand off the top of my head, they probably wouldn’t also make things for men. Which I assume is what you’re going for.”

Jesse sighs hard, rubs his face. “Yeah. Yeah, that makes sense.”

Another moment passes before Sombra reluctantly slides out, “But… I do happen to know a guy who partakes. A guy with good taste, in general...”

Not wanting to know how she’s gleaned this information and desperate for any kind of lead, Jesse coaxes his voice into something sweet. “I’d be mighty grateful.”

“I’ll text you.” Another pause, then Sombra chuckles. “You know, Jesse, if you didn’t already have ‘home videos’ circling the internet, you’d be a very easy target.”

“‘If,’” Jesse replies. “Night, Som’.”

The walk back to the hideout is just long enough for Jesse to regret everything.

~

Sombra comes through, pointing Jesse in the direction of a label with not just excellent options but a wise customer service rep who helps Jesse with everything from cup size to the difference between nylon and spandex. He finally hits 'Buy' at 3am on a Tuesday, stripped to his boxers with a cigarette dangling from his mouth and a glass full of melted ice.

Five pieces that cost him enough to exponentially increase the already weighty pressure behind this little venture arrive at a discrete location via a geo-rigged delivery drone. He has no idea why such little pieces should warrant three separate boxes, and it makes it much harder to get it all back into Overwatch’s clandestine apartment undetected, but he manages.

Once he’s made sure that Hanzo won’t be back for a couple hours and that their shared bedroom door is locked, he unwraps everything and lays it out on the bed.

Jesse looks at the lingerie. Then he looks at the floor-to-ceiling mirror built into the wall, then back to the lingerie. All spread out, the bra, panties, suspenders and stockings look impossibly delicate: a mixture of lace, sheer nylon (is that also nylon?) and straps that were designed to enhance the roundest parts of the body. The edges are hemmed with short tufts of the sheer fabric to enhance the illusion of a trim waist and full hips, blended artfully into the more traditional floral lace. He also got classic stockings to match his skin tone. It's easily the most expensive outfit Jesse has ever purchased, yet there hardly seems anything to it.

With a rough sigh, he begins the assembly, starting with the panties that have been made with (some) extra room in the crotch. The bra isn’t the most comfortable thing, but he’s just thankful it fits right. The tiny garter buckles are the hardest part and he curses more than once trying to get it fastened correctly. It all takes an absurdly long amount of time, especially with all the actual terror that he's going to rip something.

Once fully dressed, Jesse flicks at the tiny bow at the base of his bra, sighs a steadying sigh, and walks in front of the mirror.

“Well,” he huffs under his breath, turning to his side. "Well, shit."

A warm flush creeps up from his back and spreads hot over his face. The color he’d settled on—a soft, warm peach, not quite orange and not quite pink—goes well with his skin. He admires the way the suspender belt traps his love-handles while accentuating his finer features. The places where the belt attaches to the stocking straps have pale-yellow bows, and those bows rest in the divots of his just-visible Adonis belt perfectly. His belly still pooches a little, and it's the first place he touches, but it’s hard to notice in the wake of everything else.

Then Jesse reaches up a hesitant hand to cup his own pectoral, now pleasingly lifted and rounded. He grins, lets out a self-conscious chuckle and touches more; it's all incredibly soft, and he lets out an actual gasp when he finds out how the stockings feel. He can easily see how Hanzo would be into something like this.  
  
Ignoring the novel realization that Hanzo has almost certainly fucked someone in lingerie before now, Jesse turns to look at the mirror from over his shoulder. The panties are mostly sheer in the back, with a single strap woven right down the middle, winding up and around both sides to frame his cheeks. He’s glad he thought to go large on the sizing; if his ass didn’t need the extra room, his cock certainly does. Picking at the stretchy lining, he adjusts his balls until everything is properly covered, though he can still make out details through the lace.

Then Jesse faces himself squarely and smirks. Some of his former doubt fades in the light of how good he looks. Even his hair and few extra pounds don’t tarnish the overall effect. He notices other good things about himself, too—things he hadn’t noticed before. His long, shapely legs and the way his broad chest spreads out into big, rounded shoulders. He touches the bra again and thinks about masturbating, but, no—better to wait for Hanzo.

There’s still some nagging doubt, but he manages to give himself some finger-guns and get it all off with a smile.

But by the time Hanzo is back and they’re eating dinner with the rest of the team, the doubt has swung back around. Despite the set's finery, Jesse is still nowhere near the perfect models in Hanzo’s videos. He’s still hairy and scarred and wrinkled and stretch-marked and sun-damaged and not-ripped. He keeps reaching up to his lower-left ribs as he eats, rubbing the spot where Reyes himself once dug out a bullet with his field knife; the scar looks about as bad as the pain had been. And that’s one that got faded by Overwatch’s medical superiority. Before the ‘watch, or after? He wasn’t so lucky.

Should he shave? But that might make the marks all the more obvious; and, once started, where would it end? He’d have to shave from toe to chin. Should he get some make-up to cover the worst patches? The same problem arises. Also he can’t figure it’d make him feel loose and free enough for good sex.

If it even gets that far. What if Hanzo politely turns him down, explains that it’s only a porn thing, that he has no interest in it outside the digital frame of his holopad? What if the person he’s fucked in lingerie before—no doubt another model—is still on his mind, and the videos are a way to relive it? What if Jesse just doesn’t stand up to the trade Hanzo likely enjoyed during his Tokyo heyday?

What if Hanzo is only with Jesse because Jesse is his only option right now?

This mental course runs until the cowboy is sullen and silent. He hates this kind of rumination. Any time he's been caught up in rumination like this, he's ditched something or someone the next day. Any brooding he does is for the past, and even then, never not accompanied by a drink. He’s not good in the moment _before_ the fight; usually, the time between his decision to pull the trigger and actually pulling the trigger is zero.

He’s so close to calling it all off. He can still return the clothes. Hanzo never has to know about any of it.

But, after following Hanzo to the kitchen to take care of the dishes, he watches how seriously Hanzo takes the mundane process, how he smiles every time he meets Jesse's eyes and how Jesse remembers a time when Hanzo didn't smile at all, ever, and he decides: _fuck it._

Once the dishes are done, Jesse fishes out a box of cookies and offers one to Hanzo. “Got any free time tomorrow night?”

Hanzo’s eyes go left as he considers. “I am meant to assist Miss Lindholm at eighteen hundred hours.”

Jesse must do a piss-poor job of looking indifferent while chewing his cookie, because Hanzo scans him only a moment before adding, “But I could... find her tonight. Discuss rescheduling.”

“Be awful nice if you could.” He draws closer, hovering over Hanzo. This, at least, he knows is effective; Hanzo’s eyes follow him like a predator’s. “I got somethin’ real special planned for us.” He takes Hanzo’s hand and brings it to his lips. “Twenty-two hundred hours.” He kisses Hanzo’s knuckles, then slowly lets it go as he smirks and walks away. “Hope you can make it.”

He doesn’t look back, but his insides do kick-flips all the way back to the room. He really didn’t need to lay it on that thick, but he needs to be sure that Hanzo will want to show.

Sure enough, half an hour later, Jesse receives a text: _see you at 10._ By now, "twenty-two hundred" has become something of a code between them. Ten is usually late enough that the rest of the team will be in bed, or at least not hanging around, but not so late that it will ruin their perpetually early call-times.

Jesse wishes he could just jerk off and relieve some of his nerves, but it’s a no-go. He's too in his head, and there's work for him to finish anyway. So he sits on the bed with his tablet and gets to it, only glancing at the corner fig tree behind which he's stashed the lingerie every thirty seconds or so.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The second and final part of Jesse's adventure with lingerie and self-esteem!

Jesse blinks and suddenly the sun is pouring into his bedroom and Hanzo is out scouting with Brigitte and there's nothing left for him to do but find a way not to flake out before 10:00pm. 

By early afternoon he’s walking out the door to walk off the energy. Lena’s a good person to call in a time like this; she’s always up for a chat and he needs an update on Rio anyway.

Two minutes into the tourist block, a window lined with state-of-the-art vibrators catches his eye. Neat rows of colorful matte shapes with silver buttons and high price points. His leg twitches a bit, then he walks inside. Maybe he'll find something to ensure the evening isn't a total disaster; _an ace in the hole,_ his mind helpfully supplies.

“I just wanna do somethin’ nice for him,” Jesse mutters, the phone squeezed between his ear and his shoulder as he judges various dildos.

“You do nice things for him all the time!” says Lena mid-yawn; Jesse suspects his bedroom adventures aren't as interesting to her as they are to him.

“I just…” Jesse sighs, picking up other, differently-sized dildos, “The man’s doin’ so much better, but. He don’t got a Zenyatta, you know what I mean? Hell, he don’t even got a Reyes. Sometimes I feel like he's all on his own in his head, no matter what I do."

Lena clicks her tongue. “I’m not entirely sure what you mean, but… I can sometimes act like Emily’s coach. She points it out most of the time and we have a laugh. I just want to cheer her on so badly! But... I can't make her need my help. Sometimes the best thing you can do is just be there. If he likes you, that'll be enough.”

Jesse sighs and picks up other, larger dildos. “I guess.”

“You’ll be fine, Jess. Now tell me how Brigitte is holding up.”

Then a small voice mutters behind him, _“Entschuldigen sie.”_ Jesse turns to see a salesperson at his shoulder. “Do you need any help, sir?”

He looks at the dildos in his hands, then holds up his left. “Does this ridged one come in a kinda peachy color?”

It’s dark by the time Jesse decides to head back. The shiny black bag bounces against his thigh in his hurry; he really didn’t need to buy a dildo, a cock ring, and an extra bottle of lube, but it somehow made him feel better. If Hanzo hates the lingerie, he’ll at least have new toys to play with. And this is already going to be the most expensive sex Jesse has ever had.  
  
 _You can't buy the thing you really need_ , his mind slips in. He retorts with the only good come-back he's managed to counter his doubts thus far: _I'm in too deep to quit now._

He’s so eager to just start getting ready that he nearly runs into Angela in the doorway. “Shit—sorry, Ang.”

“Excuse you,” Angela says good-naturedly, zipping around him.

Jesse blinks after her. “Where you off to?”

She only half-turns. She holds the door frame, taps it with one clicking nail while she makes the most forced eye contact Jesse has ever seen. “We’ll only be here a few more days, so… I thought I’d… I’m just going to find some, umm… _Pfeffernüsse.”_

“Feffa-what?”

 _“Pfeffernüsse!_ Cookies?”

“We got cookies here already.”

Angela hesitates. “I know that.”

A stand-off. Then Jesse slowly nods, “You wanna bring some back to base?”

“Yes.”

Jesse grins. “For someone who likes that kinda thing?”

Angela frowns. “Yes.”

Jesse lifts his hands innocently; he knows Angela and Mei have been dancing around each other ever since they met. “Sounds good.” He starts to mosey on, then stops and turns again. “Wait, Ang!”

She starts, as if she’s been caught all over again. _“Yes?”_

“You got any lipstick?”

She fixes him with a disbelieving stare that is, by now, a perennial feature of their relationship.

He shrugs. “If you don’t ask, I won’t.”

It takes her less than a minute to leave and return with a half-finished tube of classic red lipstick before she’s out the door without another word exchanged.

By the time the hour rolls near, Jesse’s given up on calmness. A shower didn’t help, nor did the rest of the cookie box; if anything, they just made him pinch more at the extra roll of fat around his middle. He hasn’t felt this nervous since running black ops raids.

A full glass of bourbon provides momentum as Jesse gets himself back into the lingerie. He avoids the mirror until it's no longer an option, then lingers there for far too long. Thoughts run like wild ponies until he's managed to reason out that, yes, he does in fact want this, and he’s even excited about it on a deep level, and it’s time to stop worry and just do the damn thing.

Following this wave of self-encouragement, he gets Angela’s lipstick, rubs the tip with a finger, then taps it on his lips just like he’s seen her do. The color makes him look pre-debauched and it goes a long way in bringing his body into a state more befitting his evening plans.

Then he crawls onto the low-to-the-ground bed and luxuriates in the clean, soft sheets, thrusting gently against the mattress. Rolling onto his back, he looks down at the dramatic hills of his own tits, down to where his bulge breaks up an otherwise seamless silhouette. Flaws immediately jump out, but he shuts his eyes and focuses on sensations instead: the smell of his own clean skin, the ever-present base of rich tobacco and Hanzo’s own distinct odor from the man’s pillow. Memories and fantasy conspire in his belly, warm and whelming.

It feels like only a minute between his eyes closing and a soft knock sounding Hanzo’s return.

Trying to go slow so that maybe his heart rate will catch onto the trend, Jesse pushes back the pillows to prop himself up, trying to inject as much casual sexiness into his pose as possible, and—at the last second—rubs what looks to be straight-up dirt off the skull on his metal arm. Though the skull has no mouth, in the dark, its unmoving glare makes him think of a cruel grin.

“Jesse?”

He settles back, one of his knees bending up. Hands behind the head? No, too much. He instead lets one hand rest against his spread thigh while the other falls onto the sheets.

_Goddamn it, just do it, cowboy._

Jesse clears his throat, then calls out, “Come on in, darlin’.”

The door slides open. The hallway is black, but as soon as Hanzo confidently steps forward, the city lights from the bedroom windows flood him in cyan blue.

And that’s the only step he takes. He’s stopped dead. More still than Jesse has ever seen him.

"Hey," Jesse croaks. He meant to say something more seductive than that, but he's been stunned; Hanzo is wearing a suit that’s almost as black as his hair, which is _down,_ down all the way to his collarbone. When the hell did it get so long? It’s tied neatly over his shoulder where it contrasts sharply with a crisp white shirt, which—Jesse mouths the prayer of the Virgin Mary—has been unbuttoned just enough to show the edges of the tattoo on his chest.

Okay, so Hanzo obviously thought that they were going to a fancy dinner or something. Jesse shrinks with regret—what if Hanzo would’ve preferred a fancy dinner?—but it’s promptly swept into the wake of his own sharpened lust. 

With as much wit as he can summon, he schools his expression into hopefully something approaching ‘sultry’; luckily, he can’t help the low pitch of his voice. “You can come in, y’know.”

Hanzo lets out a puff of air, as if he’d been holding his breath. He closes the door behind him with uncareful swiftness, never taking his eyes off of Jesse. “I thought,” he starts and stops. Clearing his throat, he tries again. “When you said…”

“Thought I meant a five-star restaurant, from the looks a’you,” Jesse huffs, a kind of breathless amusement accompanying his broad grin. “God damn, Hanzo. You really had to go and out-do me, huh?”

Hanzo looks like he barely hears Jesse. He’s taken a tiny step forward and now he isn’t look at Jesse’s face at all. “What?”

“You look like a million bucks, is what.”

Hanzo lets out another sudden exhale. “And you,” He starts walking towards the bed, his own voice pitched to hell, “Jesse,” he undoes the buttons at his wrists and Jesse feels his cock stir against the lace, “Look absolutely,” he puts a knee on the edge of the bed and Jesse can see the black marbles of his wild eyes, “Priceless.”

Jesse grins and chuckles as Hanzo crawls over him. Their kiss is a deep, molten thing, and Jesse feels like he’s already been a little bit fucked by the time Hanzo lets him come up for air. The man’s calloused hands are like independent living things skating across Jesse’s entire torso, encouraging his already rapid heart rate to play even faster.

“I take it you’re into it, then,” Jesse breathily laughs.

“You—” Hanzo breathes out, also hardly sounding like himself. And then, laughing, “You are a bastard.” Jesse’s own nerve-driven chuckles continue as Hanzo strokes up and down Jesse’s stockings, hips, chest… enthralled yet indecisive, as if he’s been presented with a meal too pretty to eat. Then his fingers drift along the seam of Jesse’s décolletage and something about that makes Jesse even harder.

“What made you...?”

“Seemed liked somethin’ you’d like,” Jesse whispers.

“Jesse,” Hanzo shudders, almost to himself. He retreats just enough to look at all of Jesse again and Jesse parts his thighs, relishing the attention in a way he never thought he would. “You are already so good to me,” Hanzo whispers, stroking up Jesse’s thigh to slide the garter belt’s tiny bow between two fingers. “This is…” He breathes in slow and shakes his head, inarticulate. Eyes still dancing.

Jesse lets out another breathy laugh, this one thick with relief. “That’s damn good to hear.”

Then Hanzo looks up and Jesse watches his natural frown sink even deeper. “Did you think I would not like this?”

Jesse shrugs, makes a noncommittal noise as he rubs his leg against Hanzo’s arm; Hanzo doesn’t need to know about Jesse’s arduous mental journey.

But Hanzo looks like he knows already. “Jesse,” he growls, gently chastising. He crawls closer, kicking off his shoes, echoing himself with an even gentler whisper, “Jesse,” and Jesse didn’t know his own name could sound so pleasing. He puts his hands on Hanzo’s shoulders, smooths a hand under that open collar to cup his neck, and pulls him into a silencing kiss.

This kiss is even messier, shameless and hungry, and Jesse’s hips are soon squirming under Hanzo’s weight with his fist bunched in Hanzo’s hair, untying it altogether. That white-hot burn he’d seen in Hanzo when they watched those videos together is igniting right on top of Jesse and it takes a lot for him not to encourage rushing right to the main course. He deliberately softens the kiss and Hanzo seems to get the message, leaving a softer kiss on Jesse’s cheek, then his throat.

But his eyes are still wild when he leans back. And when they lock onto Jesse’s, Jesse shivers. “Roll over,” Hanzo growls.

Slowly, trying to stretch out the moment as well as temper his own need, Jesse turns onto his belly and hugs the pillow to his cheek. His hips roll smooth as he arches his back, presenting himself to Hanzo. He hears the man mutter something in Japanese that satisfies Jesse down to his bones, makes him spread his thighs even wider. He’s hard as a rock, but the panties keep his erection flattened to his hip, the tip _just_ stretching the waistband. 

A warm, calloused hand slides down the strip of fabric down the middle of Jesse’s ass, light when it touches the diamond-shaped nylon directly over Jesse’s perineum. The amount of breath and hissing coming from Hanzo makes Jesse imagine he’s channeling one or both of his dragons; his breath is certainly hot enough when it brushes against Jesse’s hole.

_“Han.”_

“You are perfect, Jesse.” Hanzo cups Jesse’s ass in both hands, then slides them all the way down both of Jesse’s legs, then back up again; the shiver that rockets through Jesse this time rocks his heart as well. “Your broad back. Your long legs. Your perfect...” Hanzo clutches Jesse’s cheeks again, spreading them.

Then he presses his mouth to Jesse’s hole and Jesse muffles a howl. Hanzo is relentless; he presses with his tongue like he’s trying to tear the translucent fabric, soaking it. He squeezes and spreads Jesse’s cheeks to the point of soreness. He drags his teeth dangerously over Jesse’s cheeks with deep, rolling hums, then palms Jesse’s balls until Jesse groans and arches his groin towards Hanzo’s hand.

But it retreats. “Stay just like this,” Hanzo whispers, and Jesse re-arches his back like a snapping bow.

Then Hanzo goes lower, licking and biting until he’s sucking on the flesh of Jesse’s inner thigh, his hands as greedy as his mouth. Jesse strains to look back at Hanzo without losing that sharp bow in his lower back, but all he can see is a hunched shadow and one of Hanzo’s restless hands. In his most optimistic dreams, Jesse expected Hanzo to go a little buck wild; maybe fuck him hard and put him away wet. He didn’t expect the torture of having his ass devoured and then ignored, dozens of kisses and licks followed by sudden, controlled bites on whatever part of his body Hanzo fancies. Only moving to adjust himself according to Hanzo’s whispered orders. The damp spot on his panties grows larger until he feels like he might ruin them irrevocably.

Hanzo feasts until Jesse feels like he’s tingling all over, like his cock might burn straight through the nylon. “Han. I’m gonna pop if you don’t… just...”

With his neck twisted, Jesse can just make out Hanzo licking his lips. “I am not finished with you.”

Jesse groans as Hanzo runs his tongue up Jesse’s spine, pushing his own hardness into Jesse’s barely-covered ass. “At least take off yer—”

Then Hanzo leans back and an open palm smacks quick and solid against Jesse’s ass, making him grunt and go rigid; the lust in his groin rises to a sharp point. Another breathy laugh falls out as he spreads his knees, adopting a more solid position on the mattress to prepare for another blow.

Hanzo licks the place he just hit; Jesse hisses as Hanzo pushes his tongue under the bottom seam of Jesse’s panties. “Do you like that?”

“Yeaahhh.”

“Not too loud?” Hanzo finally touches Jesse’s cock again, but only to trace its outline with his fingers. The sound of cloth and hurried movement; Hanzo’s using his other hand to unbutton his shirt. “Unless you’d like everyone to hear you.”

Jesse grins, trying to press his dick into Hanzo’s hand. “I don’t mind bein’ slutty for you.”

Then Hanzo presses his thumb against Jesse’s hole, almost pushing the fabric inside, and Jesse has to bury his howl into the already-damp pillow. Then Hanzo brings his hand down again and Jesse grunts. He’s never been propped up quite like this, nor for this long, but it feels so good; Hanzo teasing his hole and his in-between merciless blows that someone is bound to hear, murmuring what Jesse hopes are sweet nothings in his native language.

Eventually he’s wincing hard and Hanzo soothes the sore spots with his tongue. Then he pushes Jesse over onto his back. At some point, Hanzo’d gotten his shirt off and opened his fly; his cock hangs free and heavy and just outside of Jesse’s grasp. Instead, Jesse reaches for his own. 

But Hanzo pushes it away. Jesse groans, half-angry, “Come _on._ Fuck!”

Hanzo tugs aside his panties just enough to press the tip of his finger into Jesse’s hole and Jesse shuts up real quick. With a long reach, Hanzo snags the lube Jesse’d left on their nightstand and adds it to the finger already working itself inside.

That’s when Jesse remembers, shaking, “I got—I got other stuff, too. In the bag.”

Hanzo looks with mild interest over at their shared mini table, where the black plastic bag still sits. Then he turns back to smirk at Jesse. “I have everything I need right here.”

“Christ, Han,” Jesse weakly laughs, spreading his thighs to grant Hanzo more room. “Y’really know how to turn a man’s head.”

“Good,” Hanzo hums as he leans forward to suck another mark into the flesh just above Jesse’s bra. “I want your head turning.” When Jesse bucks, Hanzo takes back most of his finger.

Jesse growls, _“C’mon, already,”_ and squeezes his fists above his head. “Fuckin’ gimme—” He bucks his ass down on Hanzo’s hand and two fingers press all the way inside; he moans, bucks automatically to get them to touch exactly where he wants. 

Hanzo leans in until his own cock pushes up against Jesse. “Too much for you, cowboy?”

“Just… s’fuckin’ take me already,” Jesse rasps.

“I _am_ taking you.” Hanzo places a hand on Jesse’s throat as he stretches him open. “I am savoring you.” His thumb spreads up Jesse’s jawline and his other hand starts pushing in and out of him in earnest. “And you are being so good for me, Jesse.”

It _is_ too much for him; Jesse’s head is fuzzy, a sharp contrast to the lightning-strong desire spidering up from his groin. “‘Gonna kill me.”

“Then ask me nicely.”

Jesse grits his teeth around his pride. Hanzo seems to catch the hesitation; his hand drifts from Jesse’s throat down to his cock, where he tugs the band of his panties until they hug around the wet, exposed head. “Ask me, Jesse. What do you want?”

“C’mon, Han—”

Hanzo tugs back the band and lets it gently snap against Jesse’s cock, making the cowboy twitch and swear.

“Wanna come,” Jesse slurs, hips writhing; finally, blissfully out of his mind. “Want you to fuck me’n make me come, baby.”

“Then stand.” Hanzo takes both of Jesse’s hands and Jesse, as if resurfacing from water, rises up and out of his tingling haze just enough to get his feet under him. His own panting finally reaches his ears as he shuffles to wherever Hanzo wants him, willing to do anything to get Hanzo to touch him again.

“Look,” Hanzo whispers.

Jesse lifts his head and a weak cough of air leaves his tingling lips; Hanzo has positioned him in front of the mirror. He hovers just behind Jesse’s left arm, which Jesse immediately raises to reach for Hanzo’s hair, bunching it in his fist to both steady himself and to just be touching some part of him. Hanzo’s right hand is working into him again, making Jesse spread his legs, bend his knees a little. “Fuck,” Jesse croaks, his voice barely audible. “Hanzo, I can’t—”

“Are you sure?” Hanzo reaches around with his other hand to stroke up and down Jesse’s torso, his eyes dark and bright at the same time in the mirror’s reflection. “You are breath-taking.” He’s looking at all of Jesse with an intensity Jesse can read even through the haze of his own lust. “Every part of you.” He works three fingers even deeper into Jesse, as if spurred by his own desire. Then he turns his face into Jesse’s shoulder, biting, growling, “I’m going to fuck you like this.”

And Jesse can only nod, too far gone not to agree. His eyes swim over his own body as Hanzo puts on a condom and lines himself up; the garments are wrinkled with saliva and Jesse’s own pre-come, shifted where Hanzo’s mouth has left fitful marks. Somehow, in this light, with Hanzo lovingly pressing into him, all his scars and stretch marks and unruly hair look like features instead of flaws. As if removing even one part would make the entire moment lesser.

A wave of eagerness follows this revelation and Jesse bends further. He presses back against Hanzo’s cock, white-knuckling the sides of the mirror and groaning at the floor. When he lifts his head again he sees the jagged cowboy he’s always been and he grins, catching Hanzo’s eye just as Hanzo bottoms out.

Hanzo grins back through his obvious fanaticism and then starts fucking Jesse in earnest. No more savoring—Hanzo fucks him such that Jesse’s former haze knocks off in favor of bright, burning presence, until Jesse is growling obscene encouragement and arching for Hanzo like he can’t get enough, so much like the shameless, thrill-seeking, confident spirit of his youth.

The mirror is huge and heavy but even it shudders under Jesse’s clutching hands. He’s locked between his own grip and Hanzo’s vice-like clutch on his hips, snapping into his prostate until Jesse isn’t even making sound anymore but only panting, so desperate to come it almost hurts. But he doesn’t touch himself, not even when Hanzo’s lip curls and he pulses and pulls out of Jesse to tug off the condom and come on Jesse’s lower back and panties, fist in his hair, moaning like Jesse’s never heard before.

Then Hanzo presses close, fingers back inside of Jesse, his other hand finally stroking Jesse just how he likes it, murmuring encouragement and even more praise for his body until Jesse is choking up and coming at the same time, not spilling any tears but painting the mirror until he’s a shaking mess in Hanzo’s arms.

The shower is too large for the both of them, so Hanzo goes first; Jesse can’t quite stay on his feet just yet. He just lays on his stomach and breathes until Hanzo is back, touching him gently, helping him out of the lingerie and kissing him soft until Jesse shuffles into the shower and comes back to life beneath the lukewarm spray.

When he returns from the shower, Hanzo is sitting up in bed and inspecting the garter belt. “Trying to check my size?” Jesse drawls, toweling his hair.

Hanzo snorts with amusement. “Checking the brand.”

“Fine quality, huh?”

“Indeed.” He sets the piece down on their bedside table with an adorable amount of care, eyes light and joyful on Jesse. “I wouldn’t be opposed to buying from them again.”

Jesse grins wide. He slips on a clean pair of boxers and crawls in to join Hanzo, feeling as mischievous and eager as a man half his age; he thought it would be reward enough to see Hanzo relax and indulge himself fully, but he got just as much out of the whole operation. “You thinkin’ of buyin’ me some presents?”

“Yes,” Hanzo hums. Then, after a beat: “or buying for myself.”

Jesse’s cock twitches in his boxers. “Oh, fuck,” he whispers. “Why did I never even think of that?”

Hanzo chuckles. “I wonder.”

“Oh, honey,” Jesse hisses and slides up to press himself more fully against Hanzo’s side. “What I’d do to you…”

Hanzo turns and that’s all the permission Jesse needs to hold his face and kiss him like the start of a wildfire. “You wanna go again?” The cowboy nods his hips against Hanzo’s thigh. “I know we just got clean but you can finish in my—”

He returns Hanzo’s fierce kiss in lieu of finishing the thought, and the next day, no amount of side-eyeing over his many, many red spots and bruises gets him down. He’d say he’s never looked better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pls leave me a comment if you liked it! <3 thank you for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Part 2 coming soon! Please let me know what you thought in the comments; it makes my whole week! <333


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